


burn my body in your wildfire

by octoberswan



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Broken Heart, First Age, M/M, Middle Earth, Silmarils, Spoilers for The Silmarillion, poor Finwë
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 07:34:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16342517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octoberswan/pseuds/octoberswan
Summary: Finwë's last thoughts are of his lover.





	burn my body in your wildfire

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in the Tolkien fandom! Please feel free to point out any mistakes. I don't own any of the characters or middle earth, and all apologies to Tolkien for what his world has inspired :D

Finwë stared at the Silmarils, shining in his hands. They were beautiful beyond description, and their light shone brighter and purer than anything he had known before, barring the light of the Trees themselves. They were almost the color of Elwë’s eyes, he thought, his eyes drifting to a far point on the wall. Shifting blue and green, every shade of the sea and sky. And he felt the tree bark beneath his fingers, his feet softly crunching the leaves as he waited for Elwë in the forest. But his lover never came, and the trees continued in their silent stand, and the moon rose and fell and Finwë remained alone in the woods. 

And alone he had been since, no wives or sons or even the precious light of the Trees enough to fill his heart. But the Silmarils pulled at him, picked at his cold heart and began to drag thoughts of love lost up from where he had buried them. Elves couldn’t die from old age or sickness, but they could fade from a broken heart, and Finwë refused to let the aching pain and emptiness within defeat him. He had gone through so much, shared lives and love and family and the longer Finwë looked into the depths of the Silmarils, the more his pain could not be ignored. 

He clutched at his chest, the ground giving a slight quake beneath his feet. He remembered Elwë’s strong hands, and the sound of his heartbeat in his chest when they lay together under the stars, and the sound of his singing, light and beautiful as they traveled the long miles towards Valinor. The ground rumbled again, and the gems began to burn in his hands. The torches had gone out, and there was a foul smell drifting in the air. The scattering of many legs echoed down the hall, and Finwë grabbed the Silmarils and held them close, searching for an exit but there was nowhere to go. He fell to his knees, frozen with a sudden dread that paralyzed his limbs. A resounding crash echoed and the doors to the throne room flew open, Morgoth standing before him, hateful eyes glaring deep and vicious. Without a word, Morgoth drew a massive sword and strode towards the kneeling elf. 

A whining hum rose in Finwë’s ears, and as Morgoth’s steps advanced across the room, another sound pierced the air. It struck him to his core, and the Silmarils tumbled from his grasp. Elwë was singing. His voice was clear and bright, words of a love lost and regained again beneath the stars flooding Finwë’s head. He looked up into the face of the advancing Ainur, and then looked farther to see his beloved dancing, singing, running towards him with open arms. The hum grew louder, and the Silmarils were burning, and there was a burst of pain and then Finwë was running down unfamiliar halls, feet thrumming and his heart splitting open. 

Elwë’s body grew closer, his hands weaving as he continued to sing, and Finwë was exploding with happiness, a joy shining through him brighter than all the gems in the world. But his fingers passed through Elwë like mist, and then he was alone in the Halls of Mandos, left to wander and wait in vain for his beloved to arrive.


End file.
